She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. I ought never to have thought of it. The dizziness made the trees sickening, the smell of Michelle’s perfume soapy and revolting. "They'll escape. "He'll not trouble you on the liquor side, Mac. I'll tote it myself.
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